


Lateness

by pastelfalcon



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bath Sex, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Fingerfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelfalcon/pseuds/pastelfalcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frigga lifts her gaze briefly, lips easing into a knowing smirk as she takes in Sif’s uncomfortable stance. “Thor?” she shrewdly guesses with a soft chuckle.</p>
<p>“I would not betray his confidences, my queen,” Sif says rigidly, but there’s a flush spreading beneath the mud on her face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lateness

Sif joins Frigga in the bath almost an entire hour later than what had been promised between them. The water would have gone cold were it not for Frigga’s occasionally stirring fingers heating it again, boredly watching the open balcony beyond her stone-walled pool for signs of imminent invasion or impromptu celebration, whatever it may have been to keep her ordinarily punctual lover away.

Sif arrives with her face smudged with blood-rusted mud and her chest still heaving beneath its armored plating, no doubt not from the battle but from the swift pace she’d taken to reach the other woman’s quarters. “My queen,” Sif greets breathlessly, head bowed in both respect and apology. 

No explanation. Hm.

Frigga lifts her gaze briefly, lips easing into a knowing smirk as she takes in Sif’s uncomfortable stance. “Thor?” she shrewdly guesses with a soft chuckle.

“I would not betray his confidences, my queen,” Sif says rigidly, but there’s a flush spreading beneath the mud on her face.

Frigga laughs, loud and open, as she sits up from her formerly comfortable slump in the water. “No, you would not tattle to his mother,” she agrees, eyes bright, and sprawls her arms on the tiled stone circling the back. “You’re entirely forgiven if you don’t trek any of that mud into the bath,” she continues lightly, lifting one foot from the water and watching water glisten and drip down her exposed ankle, “I’ll take any excuse for a long bath, including a tardy participant.”

Sif ducks her eyes and laughs, her teeth briefly dimpling her lower lip before she starts unstrapping her armor and neatly piling it on the small bench beside the now-locked door. “I came as quickly as I could,” she confesses, stripping out of the clothes beneath and tossing them haphazardly on the floor, “I did not wish to betray your confidences either.”

Frigga watches her warmly. “No,” she croons in agreement. As Sif bows to remove her boots, Frigga’s eyes follow, moving over the drape of her small breasts and the bunched flesh of her stomach, the way her tied hair falls in a near-singular lock over her shoulder. “You are one of this castle’s few unhidden treasures,” she breathes, mouth quirking at the corner, “Presented for all of Asgard to admire.”

Sif straightens, entirely naked and tanned with summer’s kisses, her answering grin wicked and confident. “But only one may  _touch_ ,” she reminds Frigga, lifting one foot to rest on the edge of the bath. Posed as she is, the gently curled nest of her pubic hair is on blatant display, as is the soft gathering of pink flesh beneath, already flushed with dampness. “If it so pleases the queen,” she adds, fanning her arms out as she offers a teasing bow, eyes never leaving the older woman’s.

“Get in the damn bath,” Frigga admonishes, flicking water at the warrior with a pleased little smile.

Sif only splashes at little as she steps into the water and sinks in immediately, a happy gasp falling from her open mouth as she submerges to her neck, little whorls of steam rising around her up-tilted face. Frigga tsks softly and reaches out, swiping some of the mud still slicking her high cheekbone away with her thumb. “ _Oh_ ,” Sif says immediately, eyes snapping open, “I thought I had removed it all.”

“I won’t die from a few drops of bloody mud,” Frigga says with a snort, rinsing her fingers in the water. “Curious, though,” she adds conversationally, dubious gaze fixing on Sif from the corner of her eye, “This blood is not Asgardian. Who  _have_  you been battling on this day, when Thor was expressly told  _not_  to leave the castle?”

Sif pulls a face, teeth bared in a nervous grimace. “Please don’t ask,” she says.

Frigga sniggers and moves to drape her arms along the bath’s edge again. “Oh, I won’t,” she says agreeably, still sliding her fingers over her thumb as if considering the muck that’s no longer there, “But only because I know you’ve kept him safe, if not out of trouble.”

Sif blushes and bites her lip, her nervousness replaced by bashfulness. “The latter is an impossible feat, Frigga,” she murmurs, only indirectly apologetic.

“So it is,” Frigga agrees musingly. “Enough of Thor and your mutual misdeeds. Come here and let me take down your hair, it’s as filthy as the rest of you.”

Sif eases over, careful not to ripple the water’s surface enough to spill over the stone walls. Frigga chuckles at her gentleness; Sif would be as apt as Thor to knocking things over and shying away from the softer things in life were she not born a woman and forced to ease her strength and lighten her touches, and it shows in every painfully obvious gesture of restraint. “My  _lady_ ,” she coos teasingly, and Sif blushes, passively allowing Frigga to free her hair for a good wash.

Sif’s hair falls like ink through Frigga’s fingers, soap worked to a froth across her scalp and rinsed clean with magic-swept water that rises and spills at Frigga’s silent urging. She moves on to clean the rest of her, palms smoothing soap beneath the water as Sif’s lashes lower and her lips part, gradually shifting to straddle Frigga’s lap to allow her easier access to all of Sif’s curves and tucks.

“You spoil me, my queen,” Sif whispers, eyes easing open as Frigga’s now soapless fingers ease between her thighs. She slides her thumb alongside Sif’s clit, rubbing against its hood indirectly as Sif’s thighs compulsively grip Frigga’s, a full-body shudder following Frigga’s fingers sliding lower to smooth over the open dip of her cunt. “Frigga,” Sif breathes.

“I’ve missed you,” Frigga murmurs, and tilts her face forward to kiss away Sif’s subsequent whimper as she pushes two fingers into her, years of practice keeping the awkward angle of her wrist from complicating the act. She bounces her thighs slightly, working Sif on her hand, and Sif slides her tongue along Frigga’s as her hands shove into Frigga’s wet hair.

Sif starts moving her hips, forcing herself harder against Frigga’s hand, the kiss becoming vicious and needy. Her fingers tangle in the damp curls of Frigga’s hair and she grips harder, dragging their mouths apart for a breath only to return with teeth and tongue and soft, panted growls.

“Always so  _wild_ ,” Frigga croons affectionately, head tilting back, and Sif immediately doubles over as much as she can to gather Frigga’s breasts in her hands, fingers skidding over stretch marks left by childbirth and age, hundreds of years of power and accomplishment spelled across her skin like the most brazen of scars. There are real scars, too, flesh raised and whitened where swords and daggers have tried their luck, littering Frigga’s stomach and shoulders and one across her breast. Sif kisses all that she can reach and then ducks her head to suck a nipple into her mouth, teeth and tongue teasing hardened flesh until Frigga groans and resumes fucking her.

“If I am wild,” Sif breathes, voice muffled by the flesh in her mouth and the way Frigga’s fingers are curling inside her, “It is because I need you  _this way_  always.”

When Sif comes she draws her head back and nearly howls, squeezing Frigga’s fingers so tightly the woman nearly flinches. She immediately hoists Frigga up by her thighs, water splashing around their quickly moving bodies and spilling over the edge of the tub in noisy splatters, and perches the queen on the stone’s edge so she can kneel between her open legs.

Frigga grips Sif’s hair and grinds against her face, letting Sif suckle her clit for only moments before pressing her away to lick into her cunt instead, Frigga’s fingers replacing her inelegant sucking with quick, circular drags. As Sif keeps her tongue rigid and fucks her quickly, mindlessly, Frigga works herself over, coming with her head bowed forward to watch Sif’s bob beneath a blanket of toppled ink.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Frigga says as she gently kicks her feet through the water, shivering against Sif’s unstilled tongue, “My forgiveness is conditional on your lateness always bringing about _this_.”

Sif’s grin is wet and wicked when she lifts her face. “That can be arranged,” she agrees, licking the come from her lower lip. “ _My queen_ ,” she adds cheekily, and Frigga tilts her head back and laughs like a hundred bells making music in the wind.


End file.
